


Who Are You (Legolas)

by kathkin



Series: A Few Notes in the Song of Creation (a Lord of the Rings Dæmon AU) [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Touching, Gen, non-romantic daemon touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: As long as Legolas had lived, there were many aspects of the connection between a Man – or Hobbit – and their dæmon that were as mysterious to him as when he was a child.Legolas indulges his curiosity and has a new experience.





	Who Are You (Legolas)

**Author's Note:**

> a) Wikipedia on [dæmons](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A6mon_\(His_Dark_Materials\)).
> 
> b) [Ground rules for this AU](http://penny-anna.tumblr.com/post/174266827343/ground-rules-for-d%C3%A6mon-au).
> 
> c) See end notes for dæmon key!

“But who are _you_?” said Legolas.

He lay sprawled upon the grass of Hollin, the sun just setting. Nearby Pippin sat in deep conversation with his cousin, not caring or not noticing what was passing between Legolas and his dæmon; Legolas was not sure which. As long as he had lived, there were many aspects of the connection between a Man – or Hobbit – and their dæmon that were as mysterious to him as when he was a child.

Windflower sat before him, in one of her favoured shapes, a stoat. “I’m Windflower,” she said. “I’m Pippin’s dæmon. How d’you do.”

In a sense that had already been introduced; in another sense they had not. In Rivendell Pippin had said _I am Peregrin-call-me-Pippin and this is Windflower_. If Legolas were a Man then Windflower would perhaps have introduced herself to his dæmon, through words or touches, but he was an Elf and so nothing had passed between them, or indeed between him and any of his new companions’ dæmons.

But this was hardly the first time they had spoken. Most dæmons were reticent with anyone other than their own Man or Hobbit; he had found they were especially shy with elves. Legolas had learned long ago that to strike up a conversation with a dæmon was rude, in spite of their having voices and thoughts of their own.

Windflower was the most talkative dæmon he had encountered in many years, so talkative that she would even make a nuisance of herself by butting into conversations where she wasn’t wanted. Legolas was used to the silent, thoughtful dæmons of those like Aragorn or Boromir. Chatty little Windflower was a novelty.

“But what does it mean,” he said, “to be Pippin’s dæmon?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Windflower. “What does it mean to be an elf?”

“It means many things,” said Legolas. “I could tell you, if we had more time, but we do not so I shall not.”

“Hmm.” Thoughtfully, Windflower shifted from a stoat into the shape of a frog, and then into a hedgehog. “I _am_ Pippin. I’m his soul. I’m everything Pippin is.”

Lounging on the grass, Legolas watched her closely as she changed. He knew a little of the substance of dæmons, of how it was that Windflower could change her shape – likely more than Windflower knew herself – but he saw unsettled dæmons so rarely, the process continued to fascinate.

“If I may ask,” he said. “What does that feel like? Changing your shape?”

“I don’t know,” said Windflower. “Like a different kind of thinking, I suppose.” With a soft rush of air she shrank into the shape of a bumblebee. “It’s like moving your body around but in a different way,” her voice said from the general direction of the bee.

“I see,” said Legolas. “And how does it feel to be _you_?”

“Very ordinary, most of the time,” said Windflower, buzzing aimlessly about the grass. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.” She changed her shape into that of a rabbit and sat back on her haunches. “I think if you had a dæmon it would be a tree.”

He had never considered before, what form his dæmon might take. He could not have a dæmon, just as Pippin couldn’t _not_ have one. He thought of a tree-dæmon, a tree that was a part of his own being, and smiled. “Very likely,” he said. “But what is it to be you? To be Windflower?”

“Hm.” Windflower scratched at one of her long ears with a back leg. “That’s a very silly question.”

“I don’t see how,” said Legolas.

“You might as well ask somebody’s hands or feet who _they_ are,” said Windflower. “I’m Pippin’s dæmon. I’m a part of him.”

“Hands and feet can’t have conversations,” said Legolas. “How do you feel about Pippin?”

“About Pippin?” Windflower shifted briefly into the shape of a mouse and back into a rabbit. “I love him very much.”

The answer came without hesitation. “And he you,” said Legolas. “I can see that. People do not love their hands and feet either.”

“Perhaps not,” said Windflower. “Alright. I’m not like a hand or a foot. But it still doesn’t make sense to ask me who _I_ am, outside of Pippin. It wouldn’t make sense to ask Pippin who he is outside of me either. He’d a hobbit and I’m a hobbit’s dæmon.”

“I see.” Legolas had asked the question of other dæmons, very, very occasionally, and when willing to answer they had said much the same. “And what does Windflower mean?”

“Windflower?” said Pippin’s dæmon. “Well, it’s a flower. It was my mother’s favourite.”

“It was your mother’s dæmon who named you?” said Legolas. That was the way it was with Men; whether it was the same with Hobbits he didn’t know.

“Naturally.” Windflower flitted into a new shape, a creature like a large, round mouse he could not at once put a name too. A chinchilla, an animal from the distant south. Not one she or Pippin could ever have seen.

“How did you learn that one?” said Legolas.

Windflower flicked her whiskers. “Saw it in a book,” she said.

Her new shape was very round and very soft, a cloud of fur the colour of cream. A dæmon was not substantial the way a Man or Elf was, Legolas knew; dæmons were made of something more fundamental than mere matter. A dæmon was a few notes in the song of creation, spun briefly into physical form and then dissipating like a bubble.

For a moment, Legolas forgot himself. He stretched out his hand, meaning to see if that fur was as soft and real as it looked.

At once, Pippin spun around and snatched Windflower, now in the shape of a spotted and hissing cat, out of Legolas’s reach and clutching her to his chest he stared at Legolas with wide eyes. “ _Why_ would you do that.”

Merry grabbed Pippin’s shoulder as if to comfort or protect, glowering at Legolas as he did so, his own dæmon’s teeth bared. Nearby Sam’s dog-dæmon stood bristling with a rare snarl.

“What are you _doing_?” said Merry.

“What did he do?” said Frodo. “I didn’t –”

“He tried to _touch_ Windflower,” said Merry, and at that the whole circle tensed.

“Legolas!” cried Aragorn, his tone somewhere between an admonishment and an expression of concern.

Boromir’s Faist loped across the grass, her ears pricked and her eyes narrow, not openly angry as Sam and Merry’s dæmons but radiating distaste – and ready for a fight.

“What did you do that for?” said Frodo.

“I – forgot,” said Legolas, knowing as he admitted it how woefully insufficient it was as an explanation.

What a thing to forget. It was the first lesson he had learned of dæmons, the first time he had seen one, so very long ago – _pray do not lay your hand on a Man’s dæmon, except in utmost necessity_. His conversation with Windflower, rare as it was, had been so ordinary that the most basic of rules had slipped his mind.

“You _forgot_?” said Merry, incredulous.

“Now – now,” said the gruff voice of Gimli. To Legolas’s surprised, the dwarf was speaking up for him. “Tis a difficult thing to remember, at times – a strange thing.”

“Maybe so, but this one is old enough to know better,” said Gandalf, indicating Legolas.

“You don’t _forget_ a thing like that.” Sam had leapt to his feet at Pippin’s exclamation and now he stood, his hands balled into tight fists, his dæmon growling long and low.

“He might, Sam,” said Frodo. “Remember – he doesn’t have a –”

Sam shook his head. “You _don’t_.”

“Sit down, Sam,” said Aragorn.

Sam looked at him. His words of protest died on his lips. With an expression of weary acceptance he sat. His Harebell paced slowly towards Legolas, her growl building once again to a snarl. Leaning forward Sam grabbed her around the middle and heaved her into his lap, muttering an apology.

Pippin, meanwhile, had said nothing at all since it had happened. Though his eyes were still wide and his breathing quick, Windflower had already calmed in his arms.

“I am sorry,” Legolas said to him. “Truly, I meant nothing by it. I forgot – only for a moment – I forgot.”

“No harm done.” Pippin’s white-knuckled grip on Windflower loosened. She had changed again without Legolas’s noticing and was now a more ordinary tabby cat.

“I am truly sorry,” said Legolas again.

“Why did you _do_ that,” said Merry. He had not yet ceased to bristle and was now holding his cousin by both shoulders.

“I only wished,” said Legolas, acutely aware as he spoke of how absurd it was. “I have never – I only wished to know what it was like.”

“What are you talking about,” said Merry.

“I have never touched a dæmon before,” said Legolas.

“Well, don’t!” Merry said.

In Pippin’s arms Windflower shifted, turning to face in. She whispered in Pippin’s ear and he listened intently.

“I meant no harm by it,” Legolas said.

Merry drew breath for what was sure to be another still more bitter retort – but Pippin shushed him. “Merry,” he said. He looked at Legolas, looked him up and down, and said, “once?”

There was a shocked inhalation of breath from the company. Merry said, “Pippin – no,” in a warning tone, but Pippin shot him a look and though his grip on Pippin’s shoulders tightened he quieted.

“Once,” Legolas repeated.

Windflower turned again in Pippin’s grasp and stepped onto the grass, in a blink chinchilla-shaped once again. She stepped closer – closer – and halted. Pippin’s hand stayed fast upon her back.

With the rapt attention of every member of the company, Legolas laid his hand upon Pippin’s dæmon.

Pippin drew a quick, sharp breath. Looking at his face Legolas saw that his pupils had dilated. But he raised no objection, and Legolas could sense no distress.

She felt both like and entirely unlike a true animal. Every bit as solid and substantial as real flesh and blood, but beneath her surface Legolas could feel a distant but distinct humming, like the silent vibration of a plucked harp-string.

More than that, he could feel something of her inner self; a lightness of being, a delight in the wind and the earth and the rush of the _change_ , a thrill of youth he had not felt in long centuries. He could feel something of Pippin, too, his bravado and inquisitiveness and energy, and a deep uncertainty. All of that was woven into in every fibre of her being.

Her fur was _very_ soft.

He ran his hand, once, across the fur of her back. Beneath his curious fingers she twitched, almost a shudder, and shrank, dwindling into an ordinary mouse and racing up Pippin’s hand to his wrist.

“That’s enough,” said Pippin as stoat-shaped Windflower scrambled into his lap.

“Thank-you.” Legolas was not sure what else to say. Rising to his feet, he walked away from the party, leaving Pippin to collect himself.

As he departed her heard Merry say, softly, “what did he feel like?”

Pippin answered, “I don’t know – it was very strange.”

A moment later, recovered from the shock of what they had seen, the entire company burst into furious and fascinated conversation. Legolas did not listen in.

New experiences were a rarity for an elf. His people delighted, out of necessity, in repetition, in looking deeper and closer rather than farther abroad. To touch a dæmon had been new and truly extraordinary – an experience he’d been unlike to have the opportunity to repeat.

He heard, nearby, heavy footsteps. To his surprise Gimli had followed him away from the company.

For a moment the dwarf stood silently beside him. Neither of them spoke.

At length, Gimli said, “did she feel as a real mouse would?”

“Like and unlike,” said Legolas. And in spite of himself he tried to put the sensation into words.

As he spoke, Gimli nodded in sober understanding. When Legolas finished he stood in silent reflection. Above them the first stars were coming out. “Curious,” he said. “And yet I am not surprised.”

“Nor was I,” said Legolas. Looking back at the company he saw Windflower in the shape of a fox – another favourite – Merry’s dæmon curled protectively around her.

“Strange little creatures,” said Gimli, following his gaze.

Legolas said, “yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dæmons in this fic:
> 
> **Pippin and Windflower:** unsettled.  
>  **Frodo and Gentian:** [pale tussock moth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calliteara_pudibunda#/media/File:Calliteara_pudibunda.jpg).  
>  **Sam and Harebell:** [red cocker spaniel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bojars%27s_english_cocker_spaniel.jpg).  
>  **Merry and Celandine ("Grumpy"):** [red fox](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Fox_-_British_Wildlife_Centre_\(17429406401\).jpg).  
>  **Aragorn and Nanwë ("Theryn"):** [ white tailed eagle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White-tailed_eagle#/media/File:White_tailed_eagle_raftsund_square_crop.jpg).  
>  **Boromir and Nimbrethil ("Faist"):** [grey wolf](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gray_wolf#/media/File:European_grey_wolf_in_Prague_zoo.jpg).


End file.
